The Measure of a Man
by lightning bird
Summary: It was a rare event in the life of Francis E. Sharkey that he was wrong, especially when it came to judging a man's character. But in this case he was wrong, so very wrong, and he had never been happier about it in his life.
1. The Deal with the Exec

**The Measure of a Man**

A/N I wrote this several million years ago. _Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea _belongs to Master of Disaster Irwin Allen. All mistakes belong to me.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Part I: The Deal with the Exec**

It was a rare event in the life of Francis E. Sharkey that he was wrong, especially when it came to judging a man's character. So many years of traveling the world and being exposed to people of every walk of life had honed his skills to razor sharpness. He prided himself on being able to get a handle on most everyone he met in just a few minutes and most of the time his assessments were spot on.

But in this case he was wrong, so very, very wrong, and he had never been happier about it in his life.

He even managed to admit it to his harshest critic - himself.

Looking back, he knew he should have seen it from the start. Perhaps he had been overwhelmed at the personal invitation from Admiral Nelson, his old friend, to take over as chief of boat after Curley Jones died of a heart attack. Perhaps he had been taken by the vibrant, magnetic personality of his daring new captain. Perhaps it was the _Seaview _herself, that sleek, powerful lady of the deep. Perhaps it was the crew of hand-picked, able, enthusiastic men and officers.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that he had misjudged a man. An officer, no less, and he regretted it deeply. He should have listened to the men under him and watched the ones over him before drawing any conclusions. These men had been together for a long time. He was the newcomer here and not entitled to an opinion yet.

If someone had told him that Admiral Harriman Nelson smote the deck with a Herculite rod and Lt. Cmdr. Charles Phillip Morton had sprung up fully grown, in a perfect uniform, with a sharp look in his pale eyes and a frown on his face, Sharkey would not have doubted them for a minute. While he had warmed to Captain Crane immediately, after three weeks on board the _Seaview_, Sharkey still found Morton as prickly as a cactus. Crane smiled, Morton scowled. Instead of relaxing around him, the men stiffened and hopped to. Crane would often forgo his tie, get dirty, cause trouble, and inspire absolute confidence. Morton was never seen outside his cabin unless his uniform was exact, dirt dared not accost him, was a strict disciplinarian, and the mere mention of his name sent the work crews scurrying for cover.

It seemed odd that Nelson would employ two men that were such polar opposites, odder still that Kowalski assured him Crane and Morton were the best of friends and had been since they met in Annapolis. What was more, Crane was closer to the Morton family than he was to his own. Kowalski went a step further in offering his opinion of their executive officer, an opinion that was backed up by everyone in earshot nodding in agreement:

"Mr. Morton can be hard, but he's always fair."

It struck Sharkey as strange that someone with Morton's years of service, education, and ability wasn't in command of his own sub. Perhaps there was some mark against him and to compensate he drove the crew, but Sharkey doubted it. Morton didn't strike him as the kind to accumulate anything other than praise for his permanent record. Confidence he didn't lack, but next to Crane, Morton seemed to fade into the shadows. True, there was a world of difference between running a boat and commanding her. Not even Sharkey could fault the exec there. He caught on immediately that the _Seaview_ ran like clockwork. Better, even, and he knew immediately who was responsible for it.

Given time for thought, Sharkey would have reminded himself that was Chip Morton the very first officer picked by Admiral Nelson to serve on the _Seaview_, picked even before Crane. The admiral had wrangled him away from the Navy with a good fight and it was a constant battle to keep him. As far as Sharkey was concerned, Admiral Nelson could do no wrong and therefore the choice of Morton was no mistake. The chief, however, just couldn't see where it was right.

The man was a machine. He almost never smiled and seemed to relate better with the computers than with the other officers. Neat as he was, he was absolutely bland. What did the men see in him? How could he be Lee Crane's best friend? Sharkey could respect the rank and the job he did, but how could he ever respect the man?

Desperate for answers, he cornered Chief Sawka one morning in the galley. Sawka was in charge of the engine room - a stout, grizzle-haired, grandfatherly type of mechanical genius that was typical of the kind of person Nelson hired. They sat down over a cup of coffee, getting to know each other and swapping stories about common acquaintances in the Navy.

"What's the deal with the exec?" he asked casually, sipping his coffee.

Sawka wasn't fooled for a moment. "Why? Mr. Morton giving you a hard time?"

"Not really," Sharkey admitted. "He just . . . I dunno, Todd. I can't quite picture him as Lee Crane's first officer. He seems so . . . stiff. Does he ever smile? Or laugh?"

"Of course he does," chuckled Sawka. "Don't let him fool you, Chief. He is THE original plank owner for the _Seaview_ after Nelson and if rumor has it right, he turned down being captain of the _Seaview _after Phillips was killed when he found out the admiral was also considering Crane. Believe me when I say there's not a man on this boat that doesn't sleep better knowing he's the first officer. Present company excepted."

Sharkey sighed and shrugged, wondering what kind of man could turn down command of a submarine as fabulous as the _Seaview_. "I guess I don't know 'em yet."

"I guess not. I'll give you a clue, Fran. Right now, the good lieutenant commander is plenty pissed off at ONI and he's making sure the skipper knows how completely he disapproves of his next mission."

"This is pissed?" wondered Sharkey. "He turns into a robot?"

"No, you knothead, he turns into a workaholic. He's worried."

"Worried?"

Sawka smiled. "You've got a lot to learn about this boat and her crew, Chief."

Truer words were never said, but at least now Sharkey had a basis to work from. He noticed now that the men weren't anxious per se, but they were trying to perform to perfection and ease the burden on Morton's shoulders. Crane, too, he noticed, spent a great deal of time with the exec, talking to him, teasing and abusing him, making him take coffee breaks, and clearly trying to put him at ease. It was touching to see that beneath his professional exterior, Crane was clearly worried about Morton being worried. Sharkey wondered where the admiral fell into the scheme of things. He probably kept his distance at times like this. Sharkey wished he could do the same. He'd heard it said that the executive officer's job on any Navy vessel was all grief and no glory, but until now he'd never stopped to think that maybe this particular XO wasn't the one taking the grief.

"I don't like this, Lee," Sharkey heard the exec say a little later that same day. Crane and Morton were in the observation nose, charts spread out before them as they sipped coffee and poured over details of a planned rendezvous. Sharkey was close by and despite himself, he lingered, hoping to hear more.

"I know. Boy, do I know. The whole boat knows. But the only reason I do these missions is because I know my baby's in good hands."

"Tch. Low blow. Manipulation doesn't become you."

"Oh, c'mon! It's the truth!" Crane took a playful swipe at Morton's arm. For the first time since he'd been on the boat, Sharkey saw a hint of a smile on the blond's face.

"It's not fair. It's a foolhardy assignment," Morton stated simply. "Typical get in, with no out. ONI uses you and through you, all of us."

"It's a matter of national security, Chip."

"I know. But I don't work for ONI. I work for you."

"Which, I'll take the opportunity to point out, drives them nuts. They're not used to being turned down."

Both men chuckled. Crane's smile was as warm as summer and for a moment, Sharkey had a glimpse of the depth of the friendship shared by these two men. He wondered at it, what could bind two people so closely. He suddenly felt as if he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be eavesdropping on them. Privacy on any boat was almost impossible and he had the uncomfortable feeling the observation nose was sacrosanct to officers and men alike. He made to back away when Morton abruptly turned and faced him, that hard look in those blue eyes.

"Did you have some business here, Chief?"

He hesitated, unable to come up with anything plausible. Behind Morton, Crane bent over the charts again, allowing his executive officer to do his job, which at the moment seemed to consist of eating the chief of boat for breakfast.

"Uh, no, Mr. Morton, sir."

"As you were."

The words were quiet, clipped, and sharper than arrows and Sharkey knew he had screwed up. This might not be the regular Navy, but he sure as heck didn't want to be on the receiving end of Morton's wrath. He should have listened to the sailors, to Sawka. The exec was not a happy man and right now Sharkey knew damned well he was in the cross-hairs.

"Aye, sir," he replied, hurrying away as fast as dignity would allow. He tried his best not to look as guilty as he felt as he made his way over towards the radio shack where Lt. Hunter was on duty. The crew pointedly and politely ignored him and his singed feathers.

"You're new here, Chief," said the young officer, softly enough so they couldn't be overheard. "When they're up there on the front porch, we're all deaf. The skipper's involved in a lot of top-secret stuff and Mr. Morton and the admiral are privy to most of it. When we need to know, we'll know. Don't listen by closed doors on this ship. It can endanger lives and it's not what we're about. Besides, we have enough gossip circulating."

"Yes, sir. I follow you," he answered. "Lieutenant Hunter? Should I apologize? I didn't mean any harm."

"Call me Sparks, Chief, everybody on the boat does. I doubt if half the enlisted men know I even have a name." He smiled, clearly wanting to put the chief at his ease and succeeding. "If you want to apologize, he'll probably appreciate it. Mr. Morton knows you don't mean anything by it but he won't let anything slide, especially in front of the crew."

"Can I assume that's the reason I'm not scrubbing the head?"

"Yeah, pretty much. He won't ever make you lose face in front of the men. Trust me. Bob O'Brien and I have both been boneheads now and then and Mr. Morton, well, he'll make you feel about a centimeter tall and sorry you were ever born, but he never does it in a way that the men won't respect you." He glanced down towards the _Seaview_'s captain and executive officer, still shuffling through the charts. "The worst part is the waiting. He once let Bob stew for a week. I thought he was going to develop an ulcer. It was a relief when Mr. Morton finally unleashed. I think the Skipper told him to stop torturing him and me since we share a room. Chalk it up to a learning experience."

Sharkey nodded. "Thanks, sir."

"Chief?"

He turned back.

"Wait a day or two. He's got a lot on his mind."

"Aye, sir. Thank you."

For the next two days he managed to avoid close contact with the first officer. He could appreciate Sparks's comment about waiting. It was pretty awful. Sharkey did what he was wont to do in situations like this: he concentrated on his job and the men beneath him. The crew seemed antsy, Riley, Kowalski, and Patterson in particular. He figured it had to do with Crane's upcoming mission, but the _Seaview_'s grapevine was mum about details.

The next morning he was surprised to find Lt. O'Brien in charge of the control room. He was an even-tempered officer, steady, young, and eager to learn. Sharkey was fond of him. O'Brien wouldn't hesitate to seek help or ask questions of the men if their expertise or experience was greater. Normally he or Hunter had this watch, depending on the rotation, and Sharkey's surprise must have shown on his face as he entered the control room. O'Brien waved him over with a typically friendly smile.

"Sparks told me what happened. Looks as if your punishment is coming sooner rather than later."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Morton's posted a new duty roster, Chief," O'Brien said, holding up a clipboard. "I'll have his watch. He's got you taking part of the rotation until Captain Crane gets back. He wanted me to make sure you saw it."

"Aye, sir. Thank you, sir." He took the clipboard the lieutenant handed him and found his name listed for two nights starting midnight tomorrow. "Has the skipper left yet?"

"Shh." O'Brien put a finger to his lips. "Loose lips, Chief. I'll go over the paperwork with you. There's not too much you haven't done before, I'm sure. Probably just a different format and no fuel consumption reports to worry about."

"Aye, sir." Sharkey stared a little longer at the schedule, acutely relieved despite his concern for the captain. Being worked into the conn rotation was a good sign that Morton wasn't planning on keelhauling him. Not yet, anyway.

"FS-1 docking, Mr. O'Brien," called LeRoy, and for the first time Sharkey realized Kowalski was not at his usual station.

"Very good," said the lieutenant. "Sparks, please inform the admiral."

There came a gentle 'thump!' as the small sub docked and Sharkey followed O'Brien forward to greet the returning crewmen. Admiral Nelson came down the spiral staircase as the hatch to the flying sub was opened by a weary Kowalski.

"Welcome aboard, gentlemen," the admiral greeted with a smile as Sharkey helped to haul the senior rating up the ladder. Kowalski crouched by the hatch and took the two gun belts that were handed up, passing them to Sharkey's ready hands. Moments later Morton climbed up the ladder and nodded to the _Seaview_'s owner. Despite his neat appearance it was evident that the executive officer was at least as tired as Kowalski - his face was pale and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Admiral. FS-1 all secure, sir."

"Good, Chip. Did the drop-off go well?"

"Aye, sir. We didn't encounter any problems."

"Good. Why don't you get cleaned up, then stop by the lab to give me the details. Then you have to get some rest."

"I'll be down in a few minutes, sir," promised Morton. He looked at Kowalski as the admiral departed. "Well done, Kowalski. That was some fine piloting you did back there. I'll be sure to mention it."

Kowalski smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Morton."

"Dismissed. You're excused from duty until tomorrow. Go get some sleep. Chief, please secure the firearms in the armory and inform Sommers they've been returned. Mr. O'Brien, status report."

Sharkey nudged Kowalski's arm. "C'mon, kid," he said, leading the way. As Kowalski fell in behind him Sharkey fought the desire to grill the younger man for details. Still, a little general digging never hurt . . .

"Long flight?"

"Yeah," admitted Kowalski. "Long and hairy and I'd say I'm not looking forward to it again, except when I do it next time it'll be with the skipper on board."

"I didn't know Mr. Morton was going, too."

In the pause that followed he could imagine the look Kowalski shot his back. Todd Sawka's words echoed in his mind: _You've got a lot to learn about this boat and her crew._ Well, if he didn't ask, how was he going to learn?

"Mr. Morton was navigating," said Kowalski in a tone that while not disrespectful, told the chief that he wouldn't be forthcoming with any more information.

Sharkey managed not to growl in frustration as Kowalski headed towards the crew's quarters. How was he supposed to do his job when he was kept in the dark? Granted, Crane's mission was secret, but he was disconcerted to have learned the captain and executive officer had been off the boat for who knew how long. Of course, O'Brien and Hunter were capable and the admiral was more than capable, but . . . for all their intelligence senior officers were a flighty breed and needed constant looking after. As chief of boat, he considered the care and feeding of anyone over the rank of ensign his personal duty. He supposed that since he was so new here the men and officers needed time to get used to him before they would extend their trust. Dammit, though, hadn't he been invited here by admiral Nelson himself? Shouldn't that trust be something of a given, if they put any store in the admiral's judgment?

So lost in his own annoyance was he that it never occurred to him to apply the same question to the boat's exec.

Ten minutes before midnight the next night, Sharkey reported to the control room to relieve Mr. Morton. He still hadn't found the right moment to offer an apology to the exec and it was nagging at him. He'd thought he might try tonight, but one look at the blond's face banished that notion. Morton was clearly not in the mood for anything outside of running the submarine.

"Chief," greeted Morton briskly, picking up a clipboard and gesturing him over to the chart table. "Nothing much to pass on. We're maintaining course, speed, and trim until 0300. Carey over at navigation already has the course laid in to keep us cruising in this general area." With his pencil he indicated the bit of ocean they'd been covering for the past few days, an unremarkable expanse well south of the Philippines. "If anything unusual occurs call me immediately. Ensign West is in the radio shack all night and he knows to call me if we get the word we're waiting on. Any questions?"

"Um, yes, sir. Sir, if you don't mind my asking, has there been any word on the skipper?"

"That's the word we're waiting for, Chief," Morton said softly.

"Understood, sir."

"Anything else?"

Sharkey hesitated, then finally said, "No, sir."

"You have the conn, Chief Sharkey."

"Aye, sir."

It was a completely unremarkable night but Sharkey enjoyed having the responsibility of running the boat however nominal his contribution might be. It gave him a chance to talk to the first watch and get to know them a bit better. It turned out he knew the sonar operator's uncle, who had served as chief petty officer on the Navy's light cruiser _San Antonio._ The little bit of familiarity seemed to generate some greater acceptance among the men, and while they never lapsed for a moment they did seem to open up a bit more. Time went quickly and he was surprised when O'Brien stepped through the hatch ready for the day.

"How'd it go, Chief?" asked the younger man with a smile.

"Smoothly, sir, smoothly. Here's the log and the reports. We made the course changes on time and radar and sonar had nothing to report but a few whales heading west."

"Good. No word for Mr. Morton?"

"No, sir."

"He hasn't been up here, has he?"

Sharkey blinked. "No, sir. He left as soon as his watch was over."

"Good. Maybe he actually got some sleep last night. Don't be surprised or put out if you see him stalking around at all hours. He does that when the captain's on missions like this."

"Mr. O'Brien, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Chief."

He voiced the question he had wanted to ask last night. "Why would Mr. Morton put me on a watch as opposed to some junior officer? We have four ensigns and I'm sure they'd jump at the chance to take a shift."

O'Brien smiled wisely. "Maybe you should ask him that question yourself, Sharkey."

He half expected to turn around and have the man himself breathing down his neck, but that wasn't the case and he turned over command as the second watch filed in and took their stations. Passing the mess, he spotted Sawka finishing his coffee and reading a report and decided to drop in.

"Morning, Fran. How goes the boat?"

"She goes, Todd, calm and ladylike."

"And you wonder why Lee Crane is so madly in love?"

Sharkey grinned as Sawka waved him to a seat. "Take a load off. How are things going? I heard you ran the show last night. I take it we didn't sink. Well done. You must have done something to impress the exec. He doesn't let just anybody near his clipboard, you know."

"You think?" wondered Sharkey as Cookie brought him a steaming mug. He was about to refuse when he realized it wasn't coffee but hot chocolate. "Thanks, Cookie, that's just the thing."

"Thinking is encouraged on the admiral's boat. Yes, I think. Often, as a matter of fact. Maybe you should try it."

"I've been doing it too much." He sipped the chocolate. "So I wasn't just plugging a hole?"

"We've got junior officers for that stuff. I've never seen anyone be posted to the conn so quickly so either one: he was told to do it, or two: he wants to see how you handle yourself and the men."

"Which one are you going with?"

"Knowing Morton, it's two, because if he didn't trust you a direct order in writing from Admiral Nelson - hell, even from the Almighty - wouldn't make him change his mind. So what's gnawing at you, Sharkey?"

"I screwed up the other day."

"And he ate you alive." Sawka saluted with his coffee mug as he stood and gathered up his paperwork. "Thought I recognized that dental pattern. Welcome to the club, Fran. We've all been there. Don't worry, the scars fade and the men will sympathize. Catch ya later."

As he watched the engineer leave Sharkey turned back to the mug of hot chocolate, swirling it around before downing the last mouthful. Cookie had known he wouldn't want coffee. He must have spotted Sharkey and whipped it up immediately. Would that have happened last week, before he ran afoul of the exec? Maybe, but he liked to think he was starting to fit in on the _Seaview_.

"Thanks again, Cookie," he called to the cook back in the kitchen as he placed the empty mug by the pile for washing. "That hit the spot!"

"Any time, Chief," Cookie called back and waved.

He stepped into the corridor and headed for his quarters, feeling better than he had in days.

He reported fifteen minutes early the following night. Morton looked worn out and even after he turned over the conn he simply moved forward to the darkened observation nose and stood looking out the windows or studying the charts he pulled out. Sharkey watched the men cast glances back and forth across the bridge. Clearly they were worried, though Sharkey suspected it was Morton's reaction to the situation that had them worked up, not his presence. He wished he knew more. Wished there was a way he could help. He kept a shrewd eye on Morton from the control room, rightly reading an intense unrest in the XO's body language.

Around 0200 he sent the first man off to get dinner and when he returned an idea struck him. Soligaren and Grant were scheduled to go on break next and Sharkey pulled them aside.

"Ask Cheffrey," he said, using the appalling nickname with which Cookie's assistant, Jeffrey Holly, had been stuck, "to send up two mugs of hot chocolate on your way back, okay?"

"Sure thing, Chief," promised Soligaren.

Half an hour later he was handed two steaming mugs of rich hot chocolate. Nodding to Chief Dillon in the radio shack to keep an eye on things, Sharkey ventured forward into the darkened observation nose.

Mr. Morton was no longer standing, but seated in one of the cushioned chairs, seemingly lost in thought. For the first time since he'd come aboard the _Seaview,_ Sharkey saw not an officer, not a robot, but a man sick with worry over someone he called his brother. Morton hid it well and if Sharkey hadn't been watching for it he never would have noticed. When the exec looked up at Sharkey his expression was blank and he only arched an eyebrow at the invasion.

"Would you care for some hot chocolate, Mr. Morton?" ventured Sharkey, holding out the mug. For a moment he thought Morton might refuse, but then he waved Sharkey to join him and relieved him of the offered mug. Even now, off duty, tired and anxious, he sat up straight, every inch the officer.

"Thank you, Chief."

"I thought you could use it, sir. Cookie made some for me the other day and it was just the thing." They sat a few moments in silence, sipping the hot drinks. Sharkey braced himself. It was now or never. "Mr. Morton, about the other day . . . I'd like to apologize. I didn't mean anything by listening to you and the skipper."

"I saw you talking to Sparks," said the exec between sips. "I take it he set you straight."

"He did, sir. I won't make the same mistake twice."

"I know. The admiral has a great deal of faith in you."

"We go back a long ways, sir."

"So he said. Apology accepted, Chief. Believe me, if I want you to know something, I'll tell you myself. Captain Crane is sometimes involved in very dangerous assignments and secrecy is paramount to his safety."

"I understand, sir. You can trust me."

Morton smiled faintly. "I know that, too."

"Mr. Morton?"

"Yes?"

"Can I . . . I mean . . ."

"Spit it out, Sharkey."

"Sir, why did you give me the watch?"

Morton finally sat back in the chair, looking at him intently. "You don't want to do it?"

"Not at all, sir! I mean, yes, I want to do it! But why me over an officer? We've got some ensigns chomping at the bit for it and . . ."

"Chief, do you actually think I'm going to entrust a privately owned, nuclear submarine capable of blowing up a city and worth more than the entire state of New Hampshire to someone four months out of the academy who practically needs to be told when to go blow his nose? When I have a man of your experience at my disposal? I think not."

Sharkey blinked. "I never thought about it in those terms, Mr. Morton."

The exec let out a long breath. "I also wanted to give this watch a chance to meet you and get used to you. It'll be easier on scheduling if I know I can rely on you for backup if anything occurs. I'll work the ensigns into the rotation as soon as I think they can handle it." He stretched out his legs with a sigh, becoming more human every passing moment. "Beyond that, though, Chief, I can tell you're conscientious and a good communicator. I need the men to get used to you quickly as chief of boat. Chief Jones was well liked on the _Seaview_ and his death hit the men hard. You're not coming into an easy situation, but if I can show the men I trust you enough to steer the skipper's baby for eight hours at a clip, they'll warm up to you a lot faster. Just don't hit anything."

"Promise I won't, sir," grinned Sharkey.

"Good." He set down the mug and slowly rose. Sharkey expected him to stretch, but Morton resisted the urge in front of the men. "You're right. That was just the thing. Thanks, I may actually sleep now."

He gathered the empty mugs. "My pleasure, sir. Have a good night."

"Good night."

Sharkey watched him ascend the spiral staircase, turning over their conversation in his mind. He knew he had been given a lot of food for thought. Analyzing everything that had been said would take a bit of time, but he felt a confidence he hadn't know he'd been missing start to fill him. Morton trusted him. If officers as esteemed as the admiral and the exec trusted him, the men were sure to follow quickly behind.


	2. Hot and Cold

**Part II: Hot and Cold**

Sharkey had been on duty for almost six hours the next day when the long-awaited call from Captain Crane arrived.

It seemed as if every man present expected it - Sharkey had rarely seen men so tense. Morton had stalked silently through the boat all day and the admiral had vanished to his lab immediately after breakfast. One glance at the exec when he came on duty told Sharkey that Morton had gotten very little sleep.

"Mr. Morton!" Sparks almost shouted in excitement, pressing his headphones closer to his ear. "Sir, I'm getting an incoming message from the skipper!"

Clark darted out of the way as Morton strode to the radio shack, snatching up the headset offered him. "Call the Admiral and Mr. O'Brien," he ordered. Into the mic he said, "This is _Seaview_, over."

Though they could hear nothing of Crane's reply, the crew strained to catch everything that was happening and still pay attention to their instruments. Sharkey watched the executive officer's expression darken. Something had happened. Something bad. Maybe even what Morton had anticipated from the start.

"Pickup zone is hot. Understood. We'll get there in time. _Seaview_ out."

Nelson stepped into the control room and frowned as he overheard. Chip shot him a glance that said more than words.

He ripped off the headset. "Admiral . . ."

"Take Kowalski," was all Nelson said.

Morton nodded. "Ski! With me! Full gear in fifteen minutes."

"Aye, sir!"

The sonar operator hurried out, pausing to let Lt. O'Brien enter the control room. Sharkey turned to Morton as he rattled off orders.

"Chief, do a pre-launch on FS-1. Sparks, call the armory, tell Sommers I want full gear and weapons waiting for us on board. Mr. O'Brien, keep this course, drop her down to one-quarter speed. I'll be in contact. This shouldn't take more than three or four hours. If it does, consult with Admiral Nelson for course corrections. You have the conn, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir!"

He looked at the admiral, who gave him a reassuring nod of approval. "Fair sailing, son."

"We'll be back soon, sir, I promise."

He was glad there was a checklist for this because he had only seen FS-1 started up once before and had never done it solo. The pressure didn't help any, either, but Sharkey's hands were steady as he got all systems up and running, knowing that given a little time this routine would become second nature. He saw a pair of black boots appear on the ladder and a moment later Kowalski joined him. The seaman had abandoned his uniform coveralls for black commando gear from head to toe.

"Need a hand, Chief?"

"Could use one, kid. You start on communications, I'm almost done with the safety systems."

They worked quickly and quietly, pausing only when Sommers arrived with two gun belts, extra ammunition, a rifle, and two bullet-proof vests.

"You got the first one, Ski," called Sommers as he handed down the bulky vests and equipment. "No, no, that's Mr. Morton's gun belt."

"Thanks, Mike," Kowalski replied, strapping on the appropriate belt.

Sommers grinned, passing down a cardboard box, being careful not to tip it. "Present from Cookie."

Kowalski's face lit up with pleasure at the chef's thoughtfulness as he took the box that was heavy with food. Odds were the ONI team was famished. "Thank him for us!"

"Will do! See you boys soon!"

"All done here, Chief," Kowalski said a few minutes later. "All systems are go."

"Good," said Morton, climbing down the ladder. He was likewise geared up in solid black and he scooped up the waiting gun belt. "All set, Chief?"

"Aye, sir. Checklist is complete and the engines are warmed. You've got a full charge on the battery and she's ready to go."

"Keep an eye on the control room," ordered Morton, not looking up as he adjusted the gun belt.

"Aye, sir!" He looked Kowalski in the eye. "You be careful. Back safe."

He took his clipboard and climbed out, closing and dogging the hatches himself for his own peace of mind. When he looked up Admiral Nelson was standing by the railing, watching him.

"Sir?"

"This is the hard part, Francis. Waiting."

"Aye, sir. Do you think there'll be any trouble getting the skipper back?"

"Not with Commander Morton as fired up as he is right now. I pity the man that gets in his way, including Lee."

"He's been anxious."

Nelson snorted at the understatement. "Frantic is a better word, and with good reason. This is a very nasty situation and we'll be fortunate indeed if we get our men home safely. The only reason I'm not in worse shape than Chip is because I've been keeping busy in my lab and he's had nothing to do but his job and Lee's."

"Can I ask what were you working on, sir?"

"To be honest, I have absolutely no idea."

Two hours slowly stretched to three. When the watch changed the men only very reluctantly gave up their front-row seats to all the action, assembling down in the galley in the hopes of getting some news. Sparks, being a lieutenant and having squatter's rights, merely waved Ensign West aside and told him to find something to do for Mr. O'Brien. There was no way he was leaving his post. Sharkey, though technically off duty, remained. The exec had told him to watch the control room and watch it he would. He sensed O'Brien was happier for his presence and never questioned it.

Eventually Ensign West reappeared with coffee enough for the control room and he and Sharkey relieved each man in turn to indulge in the rare treat set up in the observation nose. At three-and-a-half hours, Doctor Jamison came down the spiral staircase weighed down by medical supplies, which gave West something else to do as they set up a small triage center on the admiral's front porch.

Ten minutes later the admiral entered by the same route as Jamison. He paused. "Has Chip called already?" he demanded, alarmed at the sight of the equipment.

"Not yet," said Doc calmly, getting some coffee and picking a chair to wait in.

"Ah."

Sharkey glanced at O'Brien, uncomprehending. "Sir?"

"Doc knows the skipper too well," was all the explanation the lieutenant offered. "Let's start on breaks, Chief. Call the galley. I'm sure everyone's up and awake, so if they want they can relieve their own stations."

"Aye, sir."

"Admiral, incoming message. It's FS-1."

Nelson snatched up the mic from Hunter, ignoring Jamison and O'Brien as they stepped closer. "FS-1, this is Nelson."

"Admiral, we're clear," came Morton's staticy voice. "En route to the rendezvous."

He gave ground as Sharkey joined them. "All secure?"

There was a pause, then, "Yes, sir. We have two wounded. Both have been treated."

Nelson gnawed on his lip, shooting a look at the officers and his chief of boat jammed into the radio shack with him. Drawing a deep breath, he keyed the mic. "FS-1, we'll meet you at the rendezvous. Take every precaution. _Seaview_ out." He looked thoughtful.

"Admiral?" pressed Doc.

The admiral glanced at O'Brien. "Call the master-at-arms and Crewman Sommers to the control room if you please, Mr. O'Brien."

"Aye, sir."

Thirty anxious minutes later the small sub returned. The officers let Sharkey finish docking procedures, watching intently. Finally he opened the hatch. They could hear voices below arguing and then an infuriated bellow from Morton.

"Belay that, Commander Caldwell! You will remain in that seat until our wounded are secured! Sit. Down. Now."

Sharkey took a step back, shocked. Nelson sighed and shook his head. In contrast, O'Brien looked ready to laugh. Doc was somewhere in between as he leaned over the hatch.

"Chip, you can send Lee up now, we'll help him."

"How'd he know it was me?" wondered Crane innocently, unaware that his quiet voice was carried upwards by the hatch.

"Who else would it be?" Morton's voice was devoid of amusement. "You're a magnet for bullets. Shut up and climb, Lee."

It took a minute or more for them to maneuver Crane up the ladder. He was filthy, exhausted, happy to be alive, but happier to be away from Morton's volcanic fury. He gave Doc a hangdog, apologetic look as O'Brien and Sharkey practically carried him to the nearest chair.

He smiled up at Nelson. "Permission to come aboard?"

"As always. Mission accomplished?" asked the admiral, smiling with delight at having his captain back aboard in one piece. "You're injured?"

"Aye, sir. It was pretty hot at the end. We probably should have left a day sooner. A bullet grazed my shoulder just as Chip was helping me climb out of our cover. He got clipped on the thigh. It's not too bad, Jamie," Crane promised the doctor. "Whatever he said, Chip was exaggerating."

"No he wasn't," countered Jamison, examining Lee's shoulder. "You call this a graze, Dr. Crane? How long ago did this happen?"

As the submarine's doctor gave his commanding officer holy hell, Sharkey returned to the hatch to give Kowalski a hand up. The sonar operator cast them all a warning look mingled with delight at Morton's rare display of temper. Next up came three ONI agents Nelson alone recognized and he greeted them in turn.

"Commander Caldwell. Lt. Moss. Lt. Cohan. Welcome aboard, gentlemen."

Chip Morton slowly climbed out of the FS-1, loaded for bear. There was a bloodstained bandage knotted around his upper thigh and traces of black greasepaint on his face. "Admiral," he acknowledged the older man with a nod.

Nelson glanced at the bandage on Morton's leg. "You're injured. Do you need assistance?"

"It's not bad, sir. I can walk to sickbay. We're all secure, Admiral. FS-1's batteries will need to be recharged and the first aid kit restocked. See to it, Chief Sharkey. Sommers, secure our weapons and all weapons on these officers including Captain Crane." He glared at Caldwell. It was clear to all there was no love lost between him and the three ONI agents. "Each one is armed with a handgun, four magazines, high explosives, det cord, initiators, timers, batteries, two knives, brass knuckles, piano wire, and possibly two types of hand grenades. Issue receipts, please." He rattled off the list of armaments as if he'd memorized it ages ago and couldn't wait to get the munitions off the bridge.

Three out of four ONI agents glared daggers right back at him as he revealed their personal armories. Sharkey moved to place himself between Morton and the three agents and out of the corner of his eye he saw Kowalski shift slightly. He didn't think the officers would come to blows, but then, he'd never thought Morton was capable of such rage. It was as refreshing to witness as it was intimidating and Sharkey silently hoped it was never aimed at him. And he'd though Morton bland?

"I'm out of grenades," snapped Caldwell.

"Then be sure to turn over your remaining weapons."

"We're fully trained ONI operatives, Lieutenant Commander," Caldwell replied hotly. "There's no need to treat us like raw recruits."

"Fully trained?" Chip echoed, pulling off his vest. "Then kindly explain to me why my captain and I were shot, Commander."

"Chip," Crane warned quietly. The exec cast him a look. Some unseen, unspoken communication passed between the two men. This was not the time or place. Morton turned away, his self-control restored. He waited in silence, and with a great show of reluctance the three men relinquished their weapons, piling them high on the seats and nearby table.

"Ensign West, escort our guests to their quarters," Nelson ordered when the last magazine of bullets was set down and his executive officer's hackles were lowered. "Lee, Chip, sickbay. Don't give Jamison any trouble. Mr. O'Brien, get us underway."

"Admiral, I need to contact the Pentagon immediately," Caldwell insisted, stepping towards Nelson. Jamison had already whisked Lee out of the control room. But Morton, not liking anything about the commander's tone, all but placed himself between Nelson and Caldwell.

Patiently, knowing Caldwell was tired and on the defensive, Nelson raised a hand for Chip to stand down and answered, "Commander, our orders clearly stated twelve hours of radio silence after you reached _Seaview_. I'm afraid any messages are impossible right now."

"This is exceptional," argued the ONI agent.

The admiral raised an eyebrow at being contradicted on his own submarine. "I'm sorry, Commander, but our orders stand."

"Sir!"

"I will not jeopardize the safety of _Seaview_ and her crew by sending a message at this time. That is final. We'll arrange for your message to be sent as soon as the twelve hours are up."

"Admiral, this is a matter of national security."

"Yes," agreed the shorter man, heading towards the staircase, "it is. Chip, I expect you in sickbay immediately."

"Aye, sir," said Morton with satisfaction, glaring Caldwell down.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Mr. Morton, we got trouble."

Asleep in his cabin, Morton jerked awake with a start, instantly aware but not exactly alert. He grimaced as Sharkey turned on the desk lamp.

"What?" he croaked, rising and automatically starting to dress. He winced as he pulled his uniform trousers over the bandage on his leg.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but that Commander Caldwell," said Sharkey, making certain Morton buttoned his shirt correctly. He shook his head as he buttoned Morton's cuff. "He tried to order Ensign West to send his message."

"What time is it?" Chip asked, dragging the brush Sharkey handed him through his hair.

"Oh-six-hundred, sir, give or take. Shoes, Mr. Morton." He waved the highly-polished shoes, and then just knelt and helped Morton slip them on, tying the shoes as Morton finished his tie.

"How long has it been?"

"Three hours since you returned, five-and-a-half since you picked up the skipper." Sharkey gave Morton a quick once-over, damned if his exec was going to storm around the boat looking less than perfect, especially with strangers aboard. There was no time to wonder at his sudden possessiveness towards the younger man. Morton trusted him to do his job and do it he would. He hastily straightened the officer's tie, then decided Morton passed muster. "We should have nine more hours of radio silence," he added just to be sure, not certain Morton could do the math right now.

The exec nodded, taking a deep breath and donning what Sharkey now realized was his game face before opening his cabin door. After a few experimental steps he straightened up and managed to walk without limping too obviously.

It was a short trip from officer's country to the control room and when he stepped through the hatch Morton looked as if he was fully rested and could go on all day, which given his mood probably wasn't far from wrong. O'Brien, exhausted and outranked, gladly made way as the exec stepped over to the radio shack with Sharkey at his heels. Ensign West, finally allowed to do his job, was standing in front of his station to keep Caldwell away from the radio controls.

"What is going on here?" demanded Morton. "Ensign?"

"Sir, Commander Caldwell arrived about ten minutes ago and ordered me to send a message to Washington, DC. I refused as per the admiral's orders and he, uh, declined to take that for an answer."

Chip nodded, then turned cold blue eyes on the simmering Caldwell. "Commander, please explain to me why I shouldn't have you placed under arrest for disobeying the direct order of a superior officer?"

Cocky and arrogant, Caldwell snapped, "I don't answer to Nelson."

"That's Admiral Nelson and on this boat, you do answer to him. You also answer to me and I'm waiting for your reason."

"You're not the captain, Crane is. You're just the exec, Lieutenant Commander."

That impassive expression never changed, though Sharkey suspected Charles Phillip Morton was up to a full head of steam. "I re-assumed command from O'Brien when I returned to _Seaview_, the command which Captain Crane relinquished to me before he left the boat on this cockamamie mission of yours. I still have command of this boat and I will retain it until Captain Crane is cleared for duty. Therefore, right now, I _am_ the captain and since you refuse to answer my question and you're interfering with the duty crew, you are hereby confined to quarters. Ensign, call the master-at-arms."

Sharkey had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning. He rightly suspected the men delighted in watching Morton unleash at anyone besides themselves and he had to admit it was enjoyable to see Caldwell taken down a notch or six by an expert. Throughout the control room there was an air of smug satisfaction as Master-at-Arms Thorogood reported. Sharkey likened the man to a pit bull - compact, powerful, and quite possibly capable of biting off limbs.

"Thorogood, Commander Caldwell is hereby confined to his quarters until I say otherwise," Morton said crisply and officially, without a hint of malice. "Post guards on four-hour rotations and arrange to have his meals sent to his cabin. All communications with anyone aboard must be cleared with me first without exceptions."

Thorogood made no pretense at hiding his pleasure at the orders. "Aye, Mr. Morton."

Caldwell's jaw was set and he was fuming. "That won't be necessary."

Morton just walked away, motioning to O'Brien and Sharkey to join him as Thorogood said in a voice that welcomed no debate, "This way, Commander."

Sharkey watched until Caldwell was out of the control room, and then joined the senior officers at the charting table.

"Bob, if those other two try anything, it's the same drill," Morton was saying to O'Brien. "I don't think Moss and Cohan are as . . . obstinate as their boss, though."

"Sir, how DID you get shot?" asked the lieutenant.

"Friendly fire as I was extracting Lee from their hiding place," grumbled Morton. He blinked, then frowned. "Chief, why are you still up?"

"Following orders, sir."

The exec actually smiled a bit. "Go off duty. The admiral will relieve you at eight, Bob. Get some rest and make sure the men do, too. The crew did exceptional duty these past few days."

Knowing he was grinning like an idiot, Sharkey said, "Yes, sir, they did."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"You WHAT?"

Lee Crane lowered his coffee cup and gaped at his executive officer as if he'd never seen the man before. He was torn between horror and delight.

"I confined him to quarters," Chip answered, pouring them more coffee.

"Where is he now?"

Chip leaned over and dumped some cream into Lee's coffee. "Where do you think? Still confined to quarters."

"Better watch your back. He's not a good man to have angry at you, Chip," warned Crane, trying to hide a smile.

Morton cast him an insulted look. "And I am?"

"He's got a point there, Lee," said Nelson, descending the spiral staircase, Sharkey just a few steps behind carrying a stack of paper. Both men started to stand and Nelson immediately waved them down again, pouring himself and Sharkey cups of coffee. "Chip, if you don't mind I'd like to borrow Chief Sharkey for the remainder of the shift."

Morton warily eyed the stack of paperwork Sharkey balanced on the table. "Of course, sir," he said, clearly willing to promise anything so long as the paper left when Nelson did.

"You'll have command until we dock on Sunday," Nelson advised, still addressing the exec. "Doctor Jamison advised me in no uncertain terms that Lee is relieved for the next two weeks."

Crane made a noise of protest. Nelson gave him a mock-stern look, having heard the arguments between captain and doctor wherein the doctor had won every round. Sharkey just sipped his coffee and watched the dynamics among these three friends.

"He also advised me that if you do anything more than lounge around and review the occasional log you won't wake up until just before Thanksgiving."

"So there," Morton confirmed.

"And I understand you're not allowed to stand for more than two hours at a time, Mr. Morton," continued Harriman Nelson. "I expect you to follow the doctor's orders."

"Sharkey already got a stool for him to sit on, sir," Crane tattled.

Nelson shook his head and folded his arms. "Better that than sitting on the periscope island, I suppose."

Chip changed the subject. "Admiral, with your permission, I'm going to have Ensign Schultz and Kowalski take FS-1 and fly our guests to Honolulu the moment we're in range."

Lee chuckled. "You really can't stand him, can you?"

"No! Caldwell's lucky I didn't leave him where I found him. Especially after he shot both of us, the idiot! It's a good thing he's got lousy aim."

"No, he doesn't. It was a mistake. Besides, we were getting shot at from all sides."

"Yeah, and he was the only one behind us, Lee! He could have at least apologized."

Crane snorted and replied, "Don't hold your breath, Chip."

Nelson signed and shook his head again, placing his cup down and motioning Sharkey to follow him back up the steps. Scooping up the paperwork, the chief paused at the foot of the stairs.

"They'll go on all day," warned the admiral fondly, smiling down at the two officers as they continued to exchange barbs.

Sharkey grinned as Morton started laughing aloud. Crane had said something to absolutely set him off, then joined in. Sharkey realized this was the first time he'd heard Mr. Morton really laugh. It was a good sound. Reassuring in a way, and it made the chief happier than he'd been since he came aboard.

"Let's hope so, sir," he replied.

_-Fin-_


End file.
